


Maybe

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, F/F, F/M, Interracial Relationship, Male-Female Friendship, Male-Female Relationships, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, RoLo, Song fic -Maybe by the Chantels, Xenophobia, underage crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard enough when you don’t fit in, but what happens when the one person who understands you is the one you’re forbidden to love? RoLo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from LiveJournal.
> 
> I mentioned the song “Maybe” by the Chantels, an old song that was popular when my mom was a teen, and how it moved me back when I was writing Stood Up. I actually mapped out the plot for _this_ story while listening to it on the way home from Sacramento.
> 
> Heads up for racial themes and occasional coarse language, keeping in mind this story is set in around the fifties/sixties and on the East Coast, a time and place where that kind of thing was more prevalent.

 

“Ororo?”

“Yeah?”

“No; not ‘yeah.’ Say ‘Yes, Mother?’”

Ororo sighed heavily as she leaned on the top of the stair rail and rolled her eyes.

“I saw that,” N’Dare informed her.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Hurry down here and iron what you’re going to wear now. You don’t have much time if you want breakfast.” It was moot, in Ororo’s opinion. Her stomach was tied up in knots, and she’d hardly slept. She fretted and stewed all night wondering how to weather her first day at her new school. “Don’t drag your feet. Remember, now, you’re walking today.”

“I got it,” Ororo assured her as she doubled back, grateful to retreat to the privacy of her room. She didn’t want her mother to see the misgivings on her face yet. She wrapped herself up in her pink quilted bathrobe with large covered buttons and opened her closet. The outfit she’d chosen was hanging separately from the rest of her clothes, and she ran her hand down the skirt, pleased. The dress had taken a week to finish, but she was proud of it and couldn’t wait to show it off. Ororo only hoped that there would be someone to appreciate it in this new, strange environment. Her old school hadn’t always been so kind…

Then Ororo winced at the slight, feverish flush and sudden cramping in her abdomen. A telltale hint of wetness slipped out and heralded the arrival of the one thing that could legitimately ruin her day…

“Damn it,” she muttered. “Damn it, damn it, damn it… just what I needed. Thanks, Lord.” She sighed and rummaged through her bureau, withdrawing her underthings for the day, including a white knit belt with narrow straps and hooks that inevitably poked her. The change fell over her body incrementally as she went through the motions of her morning, obediently heading downstairs first to iron her outfit as her mother suggested.

N’Dare looked up from the stove, where she was frying some eggs and boiling a pot of grits. “What’s the matter?”

“Got my monthly.” Her mother looked concerned and set down the spatula before she came over. She gently ran the back of her knuckles over Ororo’s forehead to check her temperature.

“You look under the weather,” she agreed. “You tired, baby?” Ororo made a sound of agreement in her throat and nodded. “You can take a nap after school.” She looked down at the dress Ororo draped over her arm and smiled. “That will look nice. I can’t wait to see it on.” She returned to the stove and deftly flipped the eggs, breaking the yokes. “The ironing board’s already out.” Her mother was already dressed for the day and looked impeccable as usual; her petite, dark-skinned good looks were a strong contrast to her daughter’s. She wore her soft, kinky black hair in two braids that she’d wrapped over the top of her head, reminding Ororo of Shirley Temple when she played Heidi. The Munroes had spent the week unpacking and setting up their house and hadn’t followed their weekly ritual of washing and pressing hair on Saturday night.

Ororo went into their laundry room and warmed up the iron, then turned on the small radio her mother kept there. Despite her mood, she hummed along with Little Anthony and indulged herself in the occasional shimmy while she ironed the dress and brassiere. She pressed out the faint wrinkles in the long skirt and admired the bold royal blue fabric that would bring out her eyes. She’d hoped the outfit would bring her confidence when she chose it last night, but Ororo felt so uncertain, as though she were braving her first day of kindergarten instead, wondering if the other kids on the playground would throw her the ball.

She draped the dress over the ironing board temporarily and joined her mother in the kitchen. Her stomach pitched slightly at the scent of eggs and grits when her mother slid her plate in front of her, but Ororo managed to eat some of it and swallow some milk.

“Momma, do we have coffee?” In casual conversation between them, Ororo indulged in the familiar comfort of her baby name for her mother, even though N’Dare insisted she stay in the practice of the more formal title.

“You and your father shouldn’t drink so much of that stuff, you will both give yourselves heart attacks,” N’Dare tsked, but she filled a teacup with strong brew from the carafe on the burner. Ororo gratefully inhaled the steam and dropped in two sugar cubes from a tiny pink ceramic dish. She poured in some of her leftover milk and contemplated the beige swirls in the liquid’s surface before she spoke.

“What if they don’t like me, Momma?”

“What if they don’t?” her mother challenged. “You still have to go to school. You’ll still be one of the top students in your class. You still have a future to strive for that doesn’t involve taking mess from narrow minds.” Ororo suppressed a grin at the phrase “taking mess” whenever it left her mother’s mouth. “Sometimes, Ororo, all you need is one good friend to get you through just about anything. If you find that one good friend, then you’ll be just fine. It helps to find someone who really understands you; when you do, stick together like glue.”

“I know that,” Ororo agreed. “I will, Momma.” She cleared her dishes from the table and headed for the laundry nook. 

“Baby girl?” N’Dare called out. Ororo looked surprised at the pet name, one that her parents seldom used anymore, and that she sometimes missed.

“Yes, Momma?”

“Remember yourself. Don’t get carried away and let people know too much, too soon. We just moved in. We can’t afford to pick up and move out. Understand?” Ororo nodded, and the faint nausea she felt earlier reared its head once more. By the time she made her way back upstairs and into the bathroom, she was jittery. 

She bathed quickly and smoothed her hair down with a sweet-smelling pomade before brushing it back into a high ponytail. She contemplated braiding it, but she wanted to readily fit in with the other girls, and a simple look seemed more feasible. Ororo brushed her teeth with the last squeeze of Ipana and applied her lipstick, blowing herself a kiss in the mirror experimentally. The coffee made her feel and look more alert, thankfully. There. She would just have to do.

She mentally ticked off her list of must-haves as she packed her purse. Extra napkins. A small baggie of aspirin, once she took two. A tin of Altoids. The lipstick, for touch-ups. Spare pencils. Her change purse. Housekeys. Kleenex. 

She eyed herself in the full-length mirror as she wiggled her feet into her one good pair of pumps. She smoothed her hands over the skirt, admiring the feel of the fabric. The dress had three-quarter length sleeves with a folded cuff. Ororo used plain white buttons to save on the cost of making the dress, and it had a wide belt that emphasized her narrow waist. The skirt was long enough for decency, reaching a respectable two inches below her knees. The large polka dot print made her look more cheerful than she felt, but she liked how it set off her hair.

She sighed. Her hair. How such a simple thing could set so many lips flapping was beyond her, but it couldn’t be helped. Out of a sense of maternal pride, her mother refused to let her dye it black, and she’d comforted Ororo more times than Ororo wanted to admit when she ran crying home every day from her town’s tiny schoolhouse. Her braids would always be in disarray from children pulling it, or from the resulting fist fights out in the yard. Ororo lifted her hand and smoothed a soft, ivory tendril of her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She stared herself in the eye – into those deep, sapphire blues that had seen too much – and stood up straight.

“That’s that.” She strode out of the bedroom in a swish of blue skirts.

*

 

Her street was quiet; Ororo saw that most of the cars in her neighborhood had already left. The houses surrounding hers were nicer than the ones she remembered from Athens, but Ororo had yet to meet any of their neighbors, and she had reasons for her misgivings. The night they arrived home from an impromptu dinner at a small diner in town, Ororo noticed a young boy jerking his head around to stare at them as he rode by on his bike. She wanted to stick her tongue out at him but suppressed the urge. Wasn’t she supposed to be the mature one?

The weather was cool; she almost wished she had brought along a cardigan, but she anticipated that the day would heat up by midday. Her steps were even, brisk clop-clops against the pavement. The walk was uneventful, for the most part, but she caught a few more stares from a passing bus. This time, she smiled and waved, deciding it was all she could do. A little girl of about five waved back until her mother pulled her back from the window.

The school was surrounded by clusters of mom-and-pop businesses with old, battered signs. A small drug store boasted Coca-Colas for a quarter and the best donuts in town. A low breeze rustled Ororo’s skirts, and she fought to keep them in place in the hopes that her slip wouldn’t show, or worse, everything under it.

It was too late; Ororo made a sound of dismay as she alternated between holding down the skirt and trying not to drop her purse or composition book. A gust of cold air undid her efforts and sent her hemline flying, exposing her long legs, stocking cuffs and all. “Oh, no!”

She didn’t realize she had an audience. She skipped a couple of steps, trying to evade the breeze. It finally settled down, and she resumed her pace, heat and embarrassment rushing into her cheeks. She vaguely heard rock and roll music carrying over the wind from a small garage across the street, but she ignored it.

*

Logan paused in the act of inserting the nozzle of the gas pump into the tank of the blue Chevy as he noticed the tall, stately girl in blue having a time of it, trying to get her clothing under control.

“Holy friggin’ smoke,” he murmured. “Who’s _that?_ ”

“Could you hurry it up, son? Some time today?” barked the man behind the wheel, peering out through the window and catching Logan’s distant look with distaste. Logan shook himself and went back to his task. The scent of gas tickled his nostrils, one of his favorite smells when he had the chance to actually enjoy it. Logan finished fueling the car and waited as his customer peeled off a few bills and tucked them into his hand. Logan in turn cleaned the windshield, polishing it with an old stained rag and getting underneath the wiper blades.

“Thanks, son.” The man paused before he started his car. “How old are you?”

“Almost eighteen.” The man made a thoughtful noise in this throat. He shook his head.

“You should be in school, son.”

“It’s not my bag.”

“It should be. Having a better job and eventually supporting a family isn’t your bag, I take it?”

“Nope.” Logan sounded unapologetic, and the man found the cool, unflappable look in his coffee brown eyes…unnerving. Despite his youthful skin and physique, Logan looked older than his years, like someone who had seen too much and grew up too fast out of survival. “Have a good day, sir.” The man nodded to him and gave him a curt wave before he rumbled out of the lot.

“Asshole,” Logan muttered under his breath. He searched the street for any sign of the girl who caught his eye, but she was long gone.

The memory of her long, supple brown legs would make a smile play at the corners of his mouth for the rest of the day.


	2. Stick Together Like Glue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Ororo’s first day leaves her with a bitter taste in her mouth. Despite having to deal with old problems again, she makes new friends…one of whom she could do without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My other RoLo stories can be found on the RoLo Realm.
> 
> Author’s Note: There will be more racial themes in this, so again, if this isn’t your cup of tea, stick with stories like Getaway or Give Me the Night.

The first thing Ororo noticed when she reached Graymalkin Senior High School was the noise. The campus was large, and the building could have fit two of Ororo’s old schoolhouse in it. But the thing that struck her was the way students seemed to hover in clusters around benches and along the steps. These were kids who knew each other from kindergarten and who were already established comfortably in their own little enclaves and cliques.

Ororo hated it there already. 

She drifted near the bushes and stood with her back to the wall of the left side of the main hall, furtively watching her peers. From what she could tell, most of them came from money, and so far, almost all of them were White. So far, not many of them spotted her, but to her dismay, they weren’t returning her tentative smile.

This was familiar territory for Ororo. Her abdomen cramped in protest at her brisk walk to school, but it twisted with new butterflies in her new surroundings. On the soccer field to her left, she noticed a handful of boys already kicking a ball in an impromptu game. They weren’t afraid to get their good school clothes dirty already, which puzzled her; but again, it must have been nice to have money. She noticed a lot of students wearing school sweaters and pins and contemplated whether she wanted to spend her stash of babysitting money on one for herself.

Her dress was just as nice as anyone else’s, which comforted her, but she sighed as she noticed that she was easily the tallest girl on the grounds. Standing just shy of six feet without shoes was a pain, in regard to finding shoes and clothes that fit properly, and also whenever boys noticed that she was as tall as they were and sniggered at her, calling her an Amazon.

A scuffle out of the corner of her eye snapped her from her reverie. A shrill cry from the courtyard made Ororo wince, unmistakably the sound of someone having a worse day than she was. Her eyes landed on a group of boys surrounding a petite brunette, wearing smug grins and showing her no pity. She looked younger than Ororo, most likely a freshman, and a precocious one at that.

“You’re at the wrong school, Pryde,” jeered the largest of the group, a portly boy with sandy brown hair and mean blue eyes. “The preschool’s down the street. You might make it in time for show and tell!” He blocked her attempts to snatch back a pocketbook that one of his peers was holding away from her, its strap wadded up around his fist as he waved it above her head.

“Give it back! Let GO!” Ororo watched the scene before her with a dark scowl.

 _No, no, this won’t do at all. They know better…_ She tutted to herself, deciding she had nothing to lose, and if anyone thought less of her stepping in where she wasn’t welcome, that was too bad. Ororo despised bullies.

The girl’s cheeks were flushed and she was growing more upset, balling up her fists and striking the boy with her purse in the chest. He feigned injury and sneered down at her while the heavy boy grabbed her arm.

“Who d’you think you are, Pryde? That’s not good manners. Rough little bitch!” he spat nastily.

“I shouldn’t have to waste good manners on a big, rude pig, Fred Dukes! Let go of me!” Two other boys in school sweaters sniggered at the girl’s efforts at defending herself. A slender boy about Ororo’s height, whose hair was surprisingly almost the same silver as hers, took the opportunity afforded by their victim’s focus on getting her purse back to play peek-a-boo. She yelped as he jerked up the back of her long skirt, exposing her shamefully. Ororo’s cheeks burned in remembered embarrassment and empathy.

Enough was enough.

“I see London, I see France, I see- OOOWWWWWW!” He dropped the skirt hem in surprise as his ear was practically twisted off his head. “Uncle! UNCLE! LEGGO!” His friends stared up in surprise at the sight of the tall Black girl easily staggering their mate with only her grip on his ear, looking pissed off as a school teacher.

“You’re nothing but a spoiled little boy,” Ororo hissed. “What’s the matter with you? Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners? You don’t put your hands on females. I don’t care who you are.” He reached up and tried to slap her hands away, but she tweaked the tortured, makeshift handle in a different direction each time he tried to twist himself away. Fred Dukes’ cheeks turned red with surprise and amusement. His beady eyes widened in disbelief.

“Look at _this_ ,” he mused loudly, “who does this colored girl think she is? You sad you weren’t invited to our little party?” Ororo let go of her victim and shoved him aside; he yipped slightly as she threw him off balance, and he tripped over his own feet, landing in a shrub.

“If this is your idea of a party, then no, I’m not sorry. No, thank you,” she informed him crisply. “Give her back her pocketbook.” He huffed in amusement, and his other friends sniggered. Ororo stood beside the girl protectively but didn’t touch her, even though her first instinct was to pull her behind herself and away from snatching, pinching hands. She ignored the younger girl’s look of confusion and stood her ground.

“Who’s gonna take it from me, huh? You don’t scare me, unless you know some colored voodoo, sister.” She approached him smoothly, playing a game of psychological chicken, seeing who would look away or back off first.

“Who says I don’t know voodoo?” she prompted. “Hm? Does that scare you, Fred? That is your name, isn’t it? Fred Dukes?”

“Yeah. Ya wanna make somethin’ of it?” His pulse raced at how close she stood and he felt the hairs on his neck rise at the look in her cold blue eyes. _Blue._ A pure, clear shade that was at odds with her gleaming, dark brown skin, and the expression in them gave him chills. His bravado was slipping, easily maintained when he was dealing with the tiny slip of a Pryde girl, but making itself scarce with this older girl who could stare him in the eye, and appallingly, find him lacking.

Her breath was wintry, even _arctic_ , as it blew from her lips, and her body…it seemed to give off a hint of static, making the air around her almost … _hum_.

“I want you to apologize to her.”

“What if I don’t wanna do what ya tell me to?”

“Then we will have a problem.”

“Sez YOU!” His hand flew up in an attempt to slap her; it served her right for poking her nose into other people’s business, didn’t it? But she was fast and cunning, catching his hand and grasping his two smallest fingers, wrenching them painfully back. He roared in pain and his friends’ grins and leers dissolved.

“Holy cow,” muttered the silver-haired one, “she’s got a hold of Fred! She’s a beast!”

“Attagirl, nigger! Make him say ‘uncle’!” crowed a shorter, homely boy in a school sweater named Mort. He felt little loyalty to Fred, and Mort spent most of his time on the fringes of their group, frequently victim to some of his pranks and bullying. He took delight in teasing Pryde, if only because that meant they weren’t teasing _him._ It was more fun to dish it out than to take it any day, in his book.

Fred was shouting and trying to shake off her grip, but she held fast to his fingers, twisting them dangerously in their sockets. “Get off! GET OFF! UNCLE!”

“Say ‘pretty please with sugar on top,’” she suggested smoothly, voice deeper with slight strain as she struggled to hold onto him. Ororo heard her mother’s voice in her head and mentally winced at the lecture she was likely to get if she got wind of what happened in school.

“In yer dreams!” he hissed. 

Suddenly Fred felt his body temperature shift, lowering as though he’d just stepped into a meat locker like the ones at his dad’s butcher shop. The day itself was still warm enough; he’d even been sweating minutes ago, a drawback to his enormous bulk, but he realized in horror that she was the source of the chill. Her hands were freezing cold, fingers snatching at his and robbing them of their circulation in her hard grip.

“Drop the bag.” He obeyed, letting go of it like it was a hot potato. Its owner swooped down and plucked it up from the ground, dusting it off and peering inside the clasp to make sure nothing was missing. Ororo spared her little attention and smiled. “Thank you, Fred Dukes.” She released him, and he stumbled back indignantly, humiliated and enraged. His face was red and his eyes were narrow slits.

“Yer a mutie!” he hissed.

Ororo shrugged. “Prove it.” Their skirmish drew a small crowd.

“She sure looks like a mutie,” someone pointed out.

“So does Dukes,” jeered another.

“No chick can do that without bein’ a mutie,” chimed in another.

“Do what? Fred’s a big pussy, anyway,” murmured the white-haired boy under his breath to the medium-sized blond to his left.

“Sure yer right, ‘Tro,” St. John muttered back, amused. “Ain’t she a sight. That sheila’s got nice legs, eh?”

“I don’t see any mutants around here,” Ororo sniffed, flicking her eyes around the crowd. “I didn’t do anything to you. I didn’t harm a hair on your head.” Fred looked like he wanted to cry foul. But he sized up the situation and found little resolution that didn’t make him look like a fool. 

_They’ll never believe me if I tell them about her tryin’ t’freeze me. They didn’t see anything happen!_

“She said she knows voodoo!” he insisted, not realizing that was a bigger mistake.

“Ha! VOODOO! Didja hear that? He said she knows voodoo! Hey, colored girl, show us some voodoo!” Ororo made a dismissive gesture with her hand. She retrieved her notebook from the ground and waited for the crowd to disperse. She never took her eyes off of Fred and his friends.

Nearby, a pretty redhead flanked by a cluster of blondes watched the scene in distaste.

“Who does she think she is?” muttered the tallest one, a curvy ash blonde in a tight white sweater. She took a long pull from a bottle of root beer before handing it off to the redhead.

“She’s nothing, that’s what. She’s a nobody. Anyone who’d show off like that just to protect that goody-goody Pryde doesn’t care about her reputation.”

“That was a neat trick, though.” The redhead scowled and she held up her hands defensively. “What?”

“Dummy.”

“Sticks and stones, Jean.”

“Only babies say that, Emma.”

Fifty years later, a friendship like that between Emma Frost and Jean Grey would have been described as two girls being “best frenemies.” They vacillated between being at each other’s throats or thick as thieves. It was their longtime habit to hate newcomers in common and break them in to how things were done at Graymalkin High. This new girl had some nerve.

“Tacky rag she has on,” mused Sophie Stepford, one of the freshmen triplets who dogged Emma’s footsteps. She eyed the polka dotted dress enviously, wondering how it would look on her instead, especially with the pumps.

“Look at her hair,” her sister Esme murmured. “D’you think it’s a wig?”

“Of course not,” Jean snapped. “It’s no more a wig than mine is.”

“So what d’you think, then?” Emma wondered under her breath. “Could she be special? Like us?”

“No,” Jean said after a pause. “Because no one’s special like us.” The early bell rang, and the students began reluctantly filing inside. The new girl stood her ground and watched the boys walk away before she took so much as one step toward the front doors.

“Hey…hey! Wait!” Ororo felt a slight tug on her sleeve and she turned to face a pair of dark brown eyes, large as saucers. “Are you nuts? Do you know what you just did?”

“I thought I was helping you,” she murmured, slightly confused. She nodded to her purse. “You’re welcome.” Ororo began to walk away again, but this time quick, light footsteps struggled to keep up with her, three of hers for each one of Ororo’s long strides.

“I know…but…how did you do that?”

“It wasn’t that hard. I had practice.” The younger girl looked surprised.

“Really? Wow. So…did you get picked on a lot?”

Ororo didn’t feel the need to lie. “Yes. I did. Frequently.”

“My name’s Kitty. It’s Katherine, but you can call me Kitty, if you want.”

“That’s a pretty name, Kitten. Be proud of it.” Kitty stifled a giggle at the further shift in her nickname, but she decided she didn’t dislike it.

“What’s yours?”

“Ororo Munroe.”

“Wow. That’s different.”

“Thank you,” Ororo said, unsure if she meant it in a good way.

“It is. I like it.” Kitty kept up a running dialogue with her as they made their way through the crowd of students milling in the halls. “Do you have your schedule yet?”

“I have to go to the office first,” Ororo informed her. “I’m new.”

“No kidding,” Kitty chuckled. “Man, no one’s gonna know what to make of you here, Ororo.”

“Then they’ll just have to learn,” she shrugged.

*

 

Minutes later, Ororo slipped inside her homeroom, cheeks flushed as she realized that everyone else was already seated. It had taken a while for the school’s secretary, Moira, to figure out the spelling of her name long enough to find her schedule and student file. As Ororo gently pulled the door shut behind her, the man taking roll call at the desk looked up in irritation.

“Young lady, why are you late? Do you belong in this homeroom?”

“Yes, I do. Here.” Ororo humbly handed him her schedule. He squinted at it, then peered up at her curiously. His blue eyes were narrow and shrewd, topped with shaggy dark brows. She noticed at that moment that he wasn’t sitting in a regular chair behind his desk, but in a wheelchair that initially made it difficult to tell how tall he was. He was slick-bald and looked about her father’s age.

“Your name’s Ororo?”

“Yes, it is, sir.”

“You’re African.” It wasn’t a question. Ororo was slightly flustered.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s not a common name around here. If you had to go to the office first, then I can’t mark you late,” her teacher informed her crisply. “But you will need to take a seat, Miss Munroe.”

“Yes, sir,” she told him carefully. She spied the only empty desk, unfortunately all the way in the back. All eyes were on her as she moved to claim it. Her cheeks heated up and she heard a few titters but tried to ignore them.

Roll call continued without any further interruptions. “St. John Allerdyce.”

“Here.” Ororo noticed with distaste that it was one of the boys who tormented Kitty earlier. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him, not looking forward to seeing him every morning.

“Elizabeth Braddock.”

“Here.”

“Brian Braddock.”

“Present, sir.”

“Lorna Dane.”

“Here.” The owner of that voice was slightly mousy, certainly dressed as well as everyone else in class, but she seemed self-conscious. Ororo felt slightly irritated when she turned around and peered over her shoulder at her and gave her an odd little smirk.

 _Put your eyes back in your head, little girl,_ Ororo thought, narrowing her eyes with clear intent. Lorna shrank back and turned back to face the front of the class. Ororo smothered a sigh.

Ororo tested the sound of each name in her head as they were called off. “Ororo Munroe?” he called out unnecessarily.

“Present, sir.” He cocked his brow at her expression and made a small checkmark on his sheet. She thought she almost saw him crack a smile but decided she must have just imagined it.

He introduced himself. “Some of you returning students may remember me from my physics class, but if not, my name is Professor Charles Xavier. Welcome to my home room. I’m glad to see some familiar faces as well as several new ones.” He nodded to a small pile of booklets on his desk. “On your way out this morning, each of you will need to take a copy of the student handbook. It explains the guidelines you’ll be expected to follow in this school and how to observe the rules of good citizenship. Keep in mind that when you’re marked late for homeroom, it’s viewed as an absence for the day. When you fail to show for your assigned classes, it’s an automatic detention unless you can produce a doctor’s or parents’ note.” Ororo was relieved that she’d been given a reprieve.

The first period bell rang, and the professor’s words were drowned out by a scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet.

“I look forward to seeing you each day and learning more about you. Remember yourselves. You’re all being observed more closely than you think, and your performance and efforts as students at Graymalkin will me measured and rewarded accordingly.” He gave them all a pointed look, and they all briefly froze. “Behave.” Everyone in the class shivered slightly at the sound of his voice. It didn’t only come from his mouth. 

Ororo shook herself. _You too, Miss Munroe._ She gazed at him in wonder as she took the copy of the handbook and tucked it into her bag.

“Th-thank you, Professor,” she stammered.

“Have a good day,” he said dismissively, nodding a goodbye as he went back to his paperwork. Ororo hurried off, wondering why she felt so…charged.

*

 

By third period, Ororo was already tired of hearing her name floating over the buzz of gossip around her, and people’s stares were giving her a headache. She headed to the water fountain and bent down for a sip, carefully holding back her ponytail from falling into the low trickle.

“You’re not allowed to drink from that,” a voice told her nastily. Ororo ignored it until she’d drank her fill. She looked up and wiped a stray drop from her lower lip, then stood to her full height.

“Why? I don’t see any sign.”

“You can’t because I said you can’t,” the girl with long red hair informed her.

Ororo felt her temper flare and her back was up, now. This was what she’d worried about and lost sleep over. Graymalkin wasn’t going to be any different from her school in Athens, then, after all.

“I’m not worried about that,” Ororo shot back. “You see, if there isn’t a sign, then anyone can drink from that fountain. It doesn’t matter what you say. And even if there was a sign, if I was thirsty, I’d still drink.” 

“That’s funny. You’re new, and you don’t know who I am. I’ll be nice and explain it this time, and I’ll speak slow, so you don’t miss anything.”

“No.”

“What? Did you…did you just tell me ‘no?’”

“Yes.”

“No one tells me no.”

“I just did. You won’t ‘speak slow.’ You’ll ‘speak slowly.’ You need to use proper grammar if you’re going to tell me anything, if you want me to listen to you. And even then, if I don’t like what you have to say, I still might not listen to you.”

“Listen to her acting all hoity-toity,” Esme whispered, giggling and elbowing her sister.

“She told you, Jean,” Sophie remarked as she sucked on a string of red licorice.

“No one hangs out here unless I say so. This is our spot,” Jean said coolly, nodding to the wall beside a long bank of lockers. “That includes that water fountain. So you’re out of luck. Move along like a good little girl.”

 _Like a good little colored girl_ was what Ororo heard, and she stiffened.

“You don’t own the fountain. You don’t own that spot. And you definitely don’t own _me_.”

“Oooooooooo,” Emma huffed, impressed.

 _Uppity heifers,_ Ororo thought to herself. Jean made a sour face as though she heard her, and her knuckles tightened around her binder.

“You can put your little voodoo hex on Fred, but you don’t scare me,” Jean told her.

“Leave her alone, Jean,” Kitty snapped as she rounded the corner and saw her least favorite girls closing in on her savior. “Buzz off!”

“I don’t have to listen to you!” Jean snapped, wrinkling her nose in distaste, as though Kitty was a slithering worm. “Take your goody-goody cooties away from me!”

“Hebe,” Emma spat, glaring and looking Kitty up and down as though she were deficient.

“Snob,” Kitty retorted. “At least I didn’t caught under the bleachers with Pietro last season at the homecoming game, Emma, so you need to just shut your mouth.” Ororo’s eyebrow rose in surprise.

 _All right. This one could be useful._ Emma flushed and pointed at Ororo.

“Don’t you dare laugh! You don’t have the right to laugh at me!” Ororo shrugged.

“Whatever.” Ororo went back to the water fountain and bent down to take another long gulp.

“Get away from there!” Jean hissed. Her earlier calm was gone, and Ororo could tell she struck a nerve, and she was glad for it. 

“I’m not finished,” Ororo said simply, still staring Jean in the eye as she bent for more water. She lapped up exactly three more sips. “There. Now, I’m finished.”

“You think you’re so tough,” Jean mused. Her gaze was calculating. “You’re just a little _mouse._

Ororo’s hackles went up. Jean looked pleased with herself.

 _Ororo’s a little mouse…Ororo’s a mouse…_ Her classmates had called her that because of her white hair and blue eyes, they said she resembled the small pet mice at the five and dime in the cage next to the goldfish.

“Meow,” Emma mocked, making little clawing motions in the air, as though Ororo was supposed to find that scary. “She looks pretty tasty, Jean.”

“You guys are just jealous,” Kitty accused.

“Go stuff your bra, Pryde,” Emma said scornfully, flicking her eyes over Kitty’s meager chest.

“At least I don’t have an empty head, Frost!”

“I’m not jealous of you,” Jean insisted, staring daggers at Ororo. “Let me make that clear.” Jean approached Ororo haughtily, peering up at her as though there was no height difference…no, as though she towered over Ororo, even though Jean was only five and a half feet tall. “You’re not welcome around here. Watch your back. This is our territory.”

“How nice for you,” Ororo shrugged. Jean headed for the water fountain and Ororo had a brief flash of inspiration.

She shouldn’t. She _couldn’t._ She suppressed a smile. Kitty eyed her oddly as Ororo concentrated on the air surrounding the fountain. The Stepford girls and Emma all shook off a faint, sudden draft as Jean approached the fountain and bent for a sip. 

Jean turned the knob on the fountain, but nothing came out of the spout. “What the…?” She twisted and jerked it impatiently. “Why on earth is it doing this?” The spout seemed to be stopped up, ruining her show of superiority. Kitty bit back a giggle, and Esme, Sophie and Mindee looked confused.

“It worked fine a second ago…”

“You don’t think that girl did something…?”

“No. Pffft…like what? Put a hex on it?”

Something was holding back the water. Ororo tugged Kitty away.

“We’re in their territory, Kitten. Come along,” Ororo suggested. 

“But…”

“Wouldn’t want them to be uncomfortable,” she reminded her. Emma looked annoyed. Kitty stuck out her tongue.

_3…2…1…_

The chip of ice lodged inside the spout broke loose as Ororo warmed the metal with a thought. A jet of water sprayed Jean in the nose, making her shriek in annoyed shock.

*

 

Kitty Pryde was a junior like Ororo, even though she was actually two years younger, and she gratefully pounced on her when it was time to pick a lab partner for their chemistry class.

“I’m gifted,” Kitty explained around a mouthful of her chicken sandwich. “I got bored at the elementary school, so they moved me to junior high, and then again to eighth grade when I tested high a couple of years ago. Now I’m accelerated.”

“Wow,” Ororo said, impressed. “Is that why they were picking on you before?”

“Kind of,” Kitty admitted. She reached into the collar of her white blouse and fished out a tiny silver chain. Ororo examined the Star of David pendant carefully. “I’m Jewish. That makes me a minority around here.”

“Join the club,” Ororo shrugged.

“We have a few Blacks in our school,” Kitty argued.

“Do they look like me?” Ororo challenged.

“Hm. Eh. Guess not.”

“Nope.”

“You’re different. Like me.”

“Yup.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Yup. Are you afraid I’ll put a hex on you?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

“How did you do that to Fred? What’d you mean when you said you had practice?”

“The kids at my old school weren’t that nice. You learn to defend yourself fast.”

“That was masterful. Ororo?”

“Yes, Kitten?”

“I like you already. Can I be you when I grow up?” Ororo chuckled and offered her a cookie.


	3. Out of Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: N'Dare runs into trouble at the grocery store. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away from this story for a long time. It wasn't for lack of trying, my inspiration just dried up for all of my RoLo stories, including this one while it was in such tentative stages, barely more than an outline.
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for disturbing content, not least of which is racist language typical of the decade when this story is taking place.

"Momma? Are you going to the store?"

"Yes, baby. In just a minute. If you want anything, put it on my list." N'Dare nodded to the small slip of paper on the counter. Ororo sauntered over and picked it up, scanning the items for anything that might be missing.

"Peaches. I want to make a cobbler tonight."

"They're out of season. They'll be expensive. We'll have apple instead."

"It won't be as good." But Ororo diligently scrawled "apples" on the list, catching her mother's _Don't argue with me_ look. N'Dare adjusted her lipstick in the small mirror hanging over the breakfront in her dining room.

"Hand me my purse?" Ororo went to the coat rack and retrieved her black leather pocketbook with brass bamboo handles.

"You look nice."

"I had an interview today at the Perrier plant. They need a secretary. They said they would be in touch." 

"That's what they always say," Ororo murmured skeptically.

"I don't want to hear any of that from my daughter, who should have more faith in her mother. If they like me, then they'll be in touch."

"Okay." Ororo cast her eyes down, but N'Dare caught her chin, forcing her to meet hers.

"It _will_ be okay." She turned her cheek up toward her daughter for a kiss that Ororo dutifully gave. "Go ahead and vacuum the living room before Daddy comes home. Have you finished your homework?"

"Almost. I just have trigonometry left." N'Dare beamed.

"Lock up after me. Don't let anyone in."

"I know," Ororo sighed. She wasn't a baby, for goodness sake...

She thought better of arguing that point with her mother; Ororo was developing the same distrust for their neighbors that her father had already expressed. She had only started her third week of school, and she was already attracting stares on her way down the block. The olive gray house on the corner belonged to an antique dealer named Tom Cassidy, who frequently leered at her when she passed by. His friend Cain wasn't any better; he was a huge bear of a man whose beady blue eyes often raked over her whenever he stepped out of his car to visit Mr. Cassidy. It unsettled Ororo.

It went without saying that they were the only Black family on their block. Ororo didn't expect a welcoming committee to show up on their doorstep with Jello salad and tuna casserole, but what she missed was a sense of belonging in her new community, feeling connected to the people around her.

Ororo waved to her mother from the picture window as she drove off in their dark blue Lincoln. She hummed as she made her way into the kitchen to fix a snack from their meager pantry in the meantime. She found the last few saltines in a crinkled white wrapper and some peanut butter and sat down to finish her homework, grateful for some time to herself.

The phone jangled from the wall mount, startling her from her logarithms. Ororo dusted the crumbs from her lap and hopped up to get it, wishing she had some juice. She hoped her voice wasn't garbled when she answered, but what she heard on the other end ruined her afternoon.

"Hello?" Ororo scowled at the sound of heavy breathing. "Who is this?" she demanded. Muted snickers greeted her; the caller clearly enjoyed baiting her. "How did you get this number?" Ororo said sternly.

"GO BACK TO AFRICA, NIGGER!" Ororo heard an angry buzzing in her ears and tasted metal. Unease turned to rage.

"Bastards," she hissed. "You think you're funny? I'll find you," she promised coldly.

"Not if we find you first, bitch!" the voice taunted. She heard a girlishly high "Oh, she said she'll find us!" in the background and more muffled sniggers. Ororo slammed the phone down. Her cheeks burned and her hands shook.

_How dare they._ Even in her own home, they wouldn't mind their own business. Her mother was wrong; things wouldn't get any better, even after they moved to a new town. People dressed a little differently and spoke with a different accent, but the same old shit still came out of their mouths. The phone rang again moments later, interrupting Ororo from her trig problems. She glared at the phone and growled under her breath.

"Uh-uh. I'm not playing your stupid little game." It continued to ring, the long, tinny little trills seeming to swell in volume, feeding her annoyance. "Kiss my black ass," she hissed. It stopped after the eighth ring. Ororo spread another cracker with peanut butter and lifted it to her lips.

_...riinnng... Riiinnngggg... Riiiiiiinnggg..._

Ororo fumed. Fine. Just fine.

She abandoned her homework and took out the vacuum cleaner. Her mother wanted her to run the vacuum through the living room, didn't she?

This was as good a time as any.

 

****

 

“She’s gotta pick up again at some point,” Fred grunted as he dialed the Munroes’ number again on the black rotary phone, enjoying the clicks with each twist of his hand.

“Whatever. She’s a nigger, she’s not dumb,” Pietro clarified.

“It’s not the same thing?” Fred teased. Pietro rolled his eyes.

“This is getting boring.”

“So? I wanna get my own back at that bitch.”

“Still convinced she used her ‘voodoo’ on you?” Mort was sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, a sight that would make Fred’s mother throw a fit, since he still had his shoes on. He was eating peanuts, tossing them up in the air and catching them one by one in his mouth.

“She’s gotta be a mutie,” Fred insisted. He listened for the ring tones, letting six of them go by before he said “No chick does that. Not with me.”

“She sure wasn’t worried about you, even when you stepped right up in her face,” Mort reminded him. He was impressed with her, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“Kiss my ass, Mort.”

“Not for a million dollars, Dukes.”

*

N’Dare got to the market and drove around the lot, looking for a decent parking spot. The Stop n’ Shop was bustling and packed, and she regretted going during rush hour. On her third pass waiting for a spot, she watched a woman climb into her car after the stock boy finished loading her purchases into the hatch of her station wagon. N’Dare backed up her car a few feet to give her room to pull out. The woman caught sight of her and gave her a chilly little nod. N’Dare smiled, but she recognized that look easily for what it was. Still, a parking spot was a p-

The screech of tires made her slam her foot on her brake as a green Chevy full of teenagers careened into that parking space before she could even blink. “What the hell?” she muttered. “Do your mothers know you’re running the streets?” She heard them whooping and laughing and loud music pumping out the windows. Three boys got out of the car and took their sweet time getting out of the path of her car. They saw her behind the wheel and jeered at her, making lewd gestures.

“Aw, now you can’t go shopping,” one of them mocked. He continued to stand in her path, until she grew tired of it. N’Dare leaned the heel of her hand on her horn, startling him, but he still just laughed. “That’s all you’ve got? You’re not gonna do shit. What’re you gonna do?” he crowed.

Logan came out of the store with a carton of smokes tucked under his arm and he was just getting ready to light one, when the sound of a car horn blaring like somebody meant business made him stare out into the lot. He saw three guys in the lot staring down a woman in a brown Lincoln Continental. She had dark skin and her hair up in a braided bun of some sort, and she looked mad as hell. But, she also looked scared, and that was something Logan couldn’t let fly.

She could be someone’s mother. He tossed aside the unlit cigarette and shoved his Zippo back into his pocket as he stalked across the parking lot. “HEY! YOU! What the hell are you doin’!” The shortest of the three boys looked back and tsked.

“Get outta here, runt. Go mind your business.”

“Get out of her way,” Logan growled as he set his cigarette carton on the trunk of a small red coupe and pointed his finger right between his teeth. Despite Logan’s short stature, he was built like a brick house, and the boy backed up. His two friends didn’t see the same kind of reason, and they stared at him incredulously.

“You some kinda nigger lover?”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Logan spat. “She’s minding her own damned business. Yer in her way.”

“Like hell, we are,” the skinny blonde one argued. “She’s just mad we took her spot.”

“Then it was probably her spot.”

“She wasn’t gonna get it first over us. She didn’t have the right-“

“Nah. She had plenty of right if she was there first. Get out of her way. Better yet, move yer piece of shit car and let her have that spot.”

“Make us, freak.”

“Runt,” said the shortest one, who still topped Logan by two inches. Logan sighed.

“I just wanted to enjoy my smokes,” he muttered under his breath. “Fine,” he pronounced matter-of-factly.

“What does he mean, ‘fine?’” one of them muttered as he stalked away from them and toward the driver side of the green car. Logan steeled himself and drew back his fist. 

All three boys watched in stunned horror as his fist plowed through the window, spraying the interior of the previously cherry car with shards of glass and droplets of blood. He smashed out the whole pane of glass in three swift strokes, leaving jagged, sparkling bits clinging to the frame, and he reached in and unlocked the door. He swung it open, climbed in, and let up the parking brake, then shifted the gear to reverse. The boys shook themselves out of their trance and leapt into action when the car started to roll back.

“Shit… my dad’s gonna kill me! You’re a damned freak!”

“You’re a shitty driver,” Logan told them as he flicked a bit of glass from his split knuckles. It stung like hell, but his face was eerily calm. He nodded to the woman, whose mouth was open and who looked very, very uncertain of whether to stay. “It’s all right,” he encouraged her. Logan walked up to the window while the boys were struggling to get into the car while it was still inching back. He tapped on her window, but she looked truly afraid of him.

“Ma’am,” he told her, “I’m sorry. Wish ya hadn’t had to see that.” N’Dare swallowed and licked her lips, then tore her eyes away from Logan.

“LOOK OUT!” Her voice sounded muffled through her window, and he whipped his head around as the tallest of the boys came after him.

“You owe me a window, you piece of shit!”

“Like hell,” Logan argued. “Go ahead, if ya think ya can take me.” He deflected his punch, blocking his swing easily. His friend didn’t think two against one was unfair.

Logan wasn’t concerned.

The dark-haired one landed a punch across his jaw, and he shouted in rage and pain as he crushed his knuckles where they connected with Logan’s extra-dense mandible. Logan huffed a laugh and made short work of him with a roundhouse punch; he had no qualms about kicking him in the ribs once he was down. “Ya don’t treat a woman like that,” he told him. “Not ANY woman, ya hear me?” The second one didn’t learn anything from seeing his friend down, and he rushed at Logan. Logan sidestepped him and tripped him, letting the momentum carry him into the side of the red coupe. He crumpled against it, and Logan grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and rammed his face into the shiny red paint. Before he could get his bearings, he jerked him back and rammed him again, then twice more for good measure before tossing him aside. He crumpled limply, coughing and gasping as blood sprayed from his nose. He faced down the third one, who was back behind the seat of his damaged car, trying to turn it and back up so he could get the hell out of there.

“Yer done shopping,” Logan huffed. 

“GET IN!” he called out to his friends. They staggered toward his voice, stumbling over themselves to get into the waiting, running car. Logan rubbed his jaw, then stared down at his knuckles again. The bits of glass were slowly pushing their way out of his skin, but it still stung. And they ruined his last good white tee shirt. Bastards…

Logan reached for the carton of abandoned smokes, his sole reason for even coming to the Stop ‘n Shop. He reached into the carton and grabbed the open box, tapping out a light for himself and digging in his pocket for his Zippo. When he began to light it, he remembered that he was standing in the path of a blue Lincoln. 

N’Dare waited patiently for him to move. He stepped aside and waved her ahead, imitating a valet. She nodded to him, and he could still read the uncertainty in his eyes. He waited for her to turn off the ignition, snapping his lighter shut. It’d be bad form to light it up when he spoke to her, wouldn’t it?

Call Logan impulsive, call him hard-headed, but he respected women. Losing his mother at a young age changed him, and there was nothing he hated more than seeing fear in a woman’s eyes, no matter who they were. A quick glance told him enough about this one – well dressed, just shy of middle aged, driving a nice car, and looking like she’d just left a PTA meeting – and justified his intervention with the punks that were harassing her. 

He admitted to himself, somewhat belatedly, that he probably hadn’t made the greatest impression. She slowly climbed out of the car and locked it up, then smoothed her skirt with her palms before meeting his eyes.

She was beautiful, with deep chocolate skin and large, dark eyes with a slight slant. “Young man, forgive me if I sound ungrateful, but have you lost your mind?”

“Ain’t gonna be the first time anyone’s asked me that,” Logan shrugged. Her lips quirked.

“I would have preferred it if that had been handled differently.”

“I found ya a parking spot, didn’t I?” She ducked her head for a moment, and he saw that she was fighting laughter, just for a moment, before she sobered.

“In a manner of speaking.” He sensed her discomfiture and could smell her fear, but whether it was a remnant of what she felt from the three boys threatening her, or from witnessing Logan’s violence was uncertain. Logan mentally leaned toward the latter and felt slightly guilty.

“Yeah, well… I’d better go. Enjoy yer shopping, um, miss…”

“Munroe. N’Dare Munroe.” She searched his face and looked him over; he felt awkward beneath her scrutiny. She reached for her purse, a fancy one with the funny handles, and she pulled out a wad of crumpled Kleenex. “Here.” She gestured for him to take it. “For your hand.” Grudgingly he took them and dabbed at the cuts, which were already healing, but he hoped she didn’t notice.

“Just call me Logan. Everybody else does.” N’Dare stared at him, awed by the ancient eyes that were staring back at her from such a young face. She towered over him in height, but he was solid and broad-shouldered, and rippling all over with muscle. He wore dark jeans rolled up at the cuffs and a pair of work boots, and his blood-flecked tee shirt hugged his chest. His black hair was slicked down and combed in one of those ridiculous “duck tail” cuts, emphasizing the elegant, square line of his jaw and broad neck. His pants had a few tears and were badly frayed, but they were clean.

“I’ll let you get back to what you were doing, young man.” She knew it wasn’t wise to continue talking to him out in the open, especially if anyone came outside to see what the commotion was about or asked about the shattered glass.

“See ya ‘round.” She hurried toward the door, not sparing him another look. Logan didn’t blame her if she felt unnerved.

He felt shaken, too.

*

Ororo fell in step with the flow of students pouring into the building a few minutes before first bell, and she almost jumped out of her skin at the feel of a small hand grasping her arm and the breathless call of her name. “Ororo, wait up!”

“Ooh! Kitten, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Kitty was grinning at her.

“Whatsamatter? You not awake yet?”

“You could say that.” Ororo yawned for emphasis, and Kitty noticed the faint bags under her eyes.

“Why? Didn’t you sleep?”

“Just had a bad day yesterday, and it turned into a lousy night.” After her mother got home from grocery shopping, the prank calls had continued, and her mother, normally unflappable, reacted strongly to the threatening caller. She was out of sorts when David came home, and only then, when they heard his stern voice, did they stop harassing the Munroes. Their voices sounded angry behind closed doors when Ororo took herself up to bed, and she huddled under the covers, musing. 

“Anyway, come with me. You’ve gotta meet the new girl.”

“Newer than me?”

“Uh-huh. And get this, she’s from the south!” Ororo sighed heavily. That was just what she needed, if she ended up being like any of the kids she left behind at her old school. “She’s a riot!” They headed for the cafeteria so Kitty could pick up a piece of fruit after missing breakfast. “There she is! Anna! ANNA MARIE!” she cried, waving furiously. A medium-height, curvaceous brunette looked up from a small bowl of half-finished corn flakes and smiled for a moment, but hesitated to wave when she saw Ororo following closely behind Kitty, clutching her books to her chest.

“Anna, I want you to meet my friend Ororo. She just moved here, too.”

“Hullo,” she offered carefully, measuring Anna’s reaction. Anna Marie’s brows drew together, but then her lips quirked.

“Girl, is that yer real hair?”

“Since the day I was born,” she shrugged back.

“Ah got this from mah friend Fannie-Lynn,” Anna told her, pointing to the striking white streak above her hairline, cutting through the glossy, dark chestnut locks that she had pulled back in a high ponytail. “Fannie dropped outta high school to go to the beauty college, and she was just tryin’ it out. Mama said it’s a little over-the-top, but Auntie Irene said it looked fine. ‘Course, Auntie Irene’s blind.” Ororo watched her stand, and to her surprise, she reached out to shake her hand. Ororo glanced down at the opera-length gloves she wore, an odd choice with her casual dress and saddle shoes. She filled out her angora sweater admirably, and several boys in the cafeteria were giving her the eye.

“Kitten said you lived down south.”

“Mississippi, born an’ bred, shoog. If ya don’t mind mah askin’, I’m hearin’ a little accent out of you, too. Where’d you hail from, again?”

“Athens.” Anna Marie’s eyes lit up.

“Georgia or Alabama?”

“Alabama.”

“Ah’ve got family down there, girl! Shoot, we might be cousins!” Ororo chuckled and shook her head.

“There’s been stranger things,” Kitty said with a shrug. “I’m gonna get a banana. Want anything?”

“No thanks, Kitten.”

“Kitten? That’s cute.”

“It fits her.” Kitty paused to talk to a group of freshmen girls before standing in line, fiddling with her Star of David that she wore around her neck. Ororo had a thought.

“Did you have any friends like Kitty back home, Anna Marie?”

“What? Younger than me?” Anna looked slightly confused.

“Jewish.”

“Pffft… girl, mah mama didn’t raise me to have a problem with where someone goes to church, just so long as they go. Ain’t like Ah’m any better than anyone else walking around here.”

“Down in Athens, we wouldn’t be sharing a lunch table,” Ororo pointed out. “Would we?”

“Depends on how shy you are, girl. Ah sit with whoever Ah please.” She reached out and looped a tendril of Ororo’s hair around her gloved finger. “Ah love this stuff, it’s so thick!” Ororo unconsciously reached out to take her hair back and smooth it back into place; it annoyed her when people touched it without permission, but Anna wasn’t spiteful about it.

She didn’t seem to have a spiteful bone in her body.

Kitty came back, peeling her banana and taking a huge bite. “Anna’s got math with me.”

“Kit said she’s gonna help me with it. Math’s not mah friend.” Anna Marie pulled a face. “Ah like to write.”

“Me, too.” The girls began to head out toward the hall, and Fred Dukes’ jeering catcalls followed them out.

“Watch out, new girl, don’t let Ororo work her voodoo on you! She’ll make you bite the head off a chicken!” Anna Marie whipped around, brows drawn.

“Who just said that?” She saw Fred guffaw and pull back into his ring of friends. Anna Marie marched over to him and gave him a stony look.

“Excuse me? Was that you yellin’ across the room at mah friend an’ me?”

“What if it was, Pollyanna?”

“Why don’t ya go run yer big fanny around the block a few times, before ya go talkin’ out the other side of yer mouth at anybody else,” Anna Marie suggested. “Wouldn’t hurt ya t’miss a few meals.” Fred huffed.

“White trash,” he sneered.

“Oh, no you didn’t,” she muttered. She pushed through the boys flanking him, and they leaned back out of the way, not liking the invasion of their space. She reached out for him with one gloved hand.

“Gonna clean the cafeteria in those gloves- HEY! OW! Ow, ow, ow…” She gripped him by his ear and twisted it savagely, leaning down into his face.

“Ah think ya owe mah new friend an apology, tubbo,” she hissed. “Now GIT UP! Git walkin’!” She pulled him, and he stumbled up out of his chair at the risk of having his ear snatched off. Kitty and Ororo watched, stunned, as Anna Marie marched over, dragging Fred behind her.

“Say it!”

“Like hell- OW!”

“SAY IT!”

“M’sorry…SORRY!” His voice went up in pitch as she gave it a little wrench.

“Sorry for what, now?”

“For the voodoo! For saying she does voodoo!”

“And?” Anna cupped her hand around her own ear, pretending she couldn’t hear him. Ororo and Kitty were still aghast.

“Calling you white trash,” he whimpered. He was getting red in the face. 

“That’ll do, shoog.” She let him go and gave him a little shove backward, and the momentum sent him stumbling back, knocking him into a chair. He caught himself before he could fall over it, arms wheeling. Kitty snickered and looped her hand through Ororo’s arm again, then snatched Anna, too. They darted off, giggling and hoping none of their teachers witnessed the spectacle.

“Ugh, there’s another one,” Emma muttered, rolling her eyes as the three girls headed toward their home rooms. “She looks as freakish as Munroe.”

“So, she’s another nobody,” Jean said with a shrug. “Big deal.”

“She dragged Fred across the room by the ear,” Esme murmured. “I’ve never seen _anyone_ do that.”

“Fred’s a big baby. And he’s a nobody, too.” Jean stared into her compact and fluffed her hair, making a kissy face at herself to redistribute her red lipstick. “I’m not impressed.”

“Jeannie,” Emma said suddenly, grabbing her arm. “Look.”

“Where?” But Emma grabbed her and spun her around.

“That doesn’t mean to actually look over there!” she hissed. “It’s Scott. Right over there, talking to Braddock.” Emma grabbed her compact, and the two of them stared into it, holding it over Jean’s shoulder slightly and angling it until they could see the subject of their interest.

The tall, slim upperclassman was talking to Brian, wearing a bulky letterman sweater and his school pin on his lapel. He had his hair neatly side-parted and slicked back with a bit of pomade. Brian told him something that made him throw back his head and laugh, bringing out his dimples.

“Gosh, he’s dreamy,” Jean gushed as she clapped the compact shut. Emma nodded, giggling and sneaking peeks at him over her shoulder.

“I want him to take me to the mixer,” Jean decided. 

“What if I want him to take _me_?” Emma demanded.

“That decision’s up to him, isn’t it?” But Jean’s green eyes twinkled, and Emma knew what the look meant: Jean planned to play dirty. Again. “I’d better get to home room,” she announced. The Stepford girls watched her slam her locker and hurry off in the boys’ direction, hair swinging, purse slung over her shoulder.

She dropped the pen she’d dug out of it as she hurried past the boys. She heard it clatter across the tile, followed by a scuffle of feet. “Hey… um, you dropped this!”

“Oh! Wow… I’m such a goof.” She doubled back and grinned up into Scott Summer’s face, all bashful shrugs and awkwardness. “Thanks for grabbing that. I would’ve been out of luck for my math test if I’d lost it.”

“Um… aren’t you in my algebra two?”

“Maybe.”

“Middle row, third seat… back?” He rubbed his nape and glanced away. Jean caught Emma’s eye over Scott’s shoulder several paces back, giving her an evil look. Jean gloated wickedly to herself. Oh, this was too good…

“Yeah. Thanks.” She reached for the pen, and her fingertips brushed his.

She felt his flush before it even reached his cheeks. Scott Summers was shy.

_Wow, she’s cute._

That stray flash of his thoughts caught her off guard. Jean strengthened her psychic shields and cleared her throat.

“Um… I’ll see you around, uh…”

“Scott. Summers.”

“Jean Grey.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay. See you.” The first bell rang, and he shuffled off. Jean’s expression when she headed to her room was very, very smug.

“I hate her. Best friend or not, Esme.”

“Wish I was her, though.” Emma sighed.

*

Ororo and Kitty agreed to meet Anna Marie after school to stop for a soda. They headed to the Millers Family Quik Mart and caught up to her, and they stopped at the icebox in the back. “I’m dying for a Coca-Cola,” Kitty told them. “I’ve been wanting one all day.”

“Ah’m gonna get a little candy, too,” Anna announced as she approached the counter. She selected a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint and a pack of Necco wafers. Ororo made a face.

“Ugh, those are awful. They taste like chalk.”

“Girl, Ah love these!” The girls took their sodas and had the clerk at the counter pop them open. He gave Ororo a hard look as she handed his over, but he popped the cap and clunked it on the counter. Ororo handed over her change for the soda quickly and backed off while Anna Marie grinned up in his face.

“Why, thank you, shoog.” Kitty raised her brows, then met Ororo’s eyes. Ororo’s lips quirked. They hurried outside, and Kitty released her giggle.

“You’re such a flirt, Anna.”

“Just bein’ friendly.”

“He was a creep,” Kitty muttered. They headed for a bench by the curb and paused for a moment to drink their sodas. The wind blew the stench of gasoline in their direction. “Ew,” Kitty tsked. “I hate that smell.”

“Right next to the gas station, Kitten. We won’t be here that long.” They watched a black sedan pull into the lot and they saw a young man a little older than they were loiter outside, wiping his hands on a dirty towel. He was wearing dark coveralls and they could see a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

“Hello, short stuff,” Anna Marie murmured, whistling. Ororo spared him a glance over the rim of her Coke bottle. He worked quickly, cleaning the windshields and side mirrors before filling the tank. The driver leaned out of the window and handed him several crumpled bills. Ororo watched him lick his thumb and count them, then reach into his pocket for change. He nodded at the man and squeezed the trigger on the pump, whistling to himself as he finished the task.

He looked bored. He felt eyes watching him, clearly, as his gaze darted her way. She watched him blink and straighten up from his casual slouch. He gave her a little nod. Ororo found herself nodding back, heat spreading across her cheeks.

His face was square-jawed and puckish and he was built like a tank. Generous muscles filled out those coveralls and she saw a sprinkling of hair peeking over the edge of his neckline. His skin was swarthy, looking like he had a hint of his summer tan left, easily acquired from working outside. His black hair looked thick and rich, combed back into a d.a. and gleaming with pomade. 

She realized she was staring at his mouth when one corner quirked up at her, and she quickly looked away.

“I’ve gotta get home,” Kitty told them. “Mom’s making soup. I have to go to the store for her and do the dishes.”

“That’s fine,” Anna agreed. She finished her soda and gulped back a little burp. “That hit the spot!” She chucked the bottle into the trash. Ororo and Kitty gripped their unfinished bottles and listened to Anna Marie prattle on about her new house.

“Ah miss the magnolia trees we used ta have on our property. They were so pretty,” Anna told them. “Got a red maple in the front yard, now. It’s not the same. Auntie Irene likes the house, though.”

“So she lives with you?” Ororo inquired. As they were walking away, she risked a peek over her shoulder.

The gas jockey waved to her, hazel eyes twinkling at her, and she ducked her head, but not before he caught her smile.

“Always has,” Anna Marie explained. “It was hard ta move away, but Mama said it was for the best. She didn’t really explain why.”

“I think you’ll like it here,” Kitty said hopefully. “I’m sure glad you came. Someone’s gotta keep Dukes in line.” The girls snickered as they headed down the street, whooping it up as they reenacted the incident from the lunch room that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am OriginalCeenote on RoLo Realm. Most of my Ororo/Logan stories are AUs or borrow from Uncanny X-Men.


End file.
